Without Reason
by Sarah the Welsh One
Summary: A BtVS/Roswell xover. Xander leaves Sunnydale for pastures new- and the truth's out there, if only he can bring himself to tell it...


(1)  
  
The End Of Ego  
  
"And the really cool part? Even with everything that's happened? It's really just still starting."  
  
- Xander  
  
:::: Xander  
  
"You could have at least chosen someone with class."  
  
See, inadvertently, she just insulted herself. But there's no point in my picking fault with everything she wrote - at least, there's no point my picking fault with the nine words she scrawled on a scrap of paper and left on her pillow this morning. We had a row. Neither of us exactly emerged triumphant, but she's always been the butterfly. This endless tango of me and my ego never stops, but even if it did, it wouldn't make any difference now.  
  
She's gone.  
  
We could have talked about it. I could have told her that she was overreacting, and that it didn't mean anything. So I lost my virginity to someone who wasn't her. She's always known. Why bring it up now? Some women like to argue for arguing's sake, I guess. I can practically see my mom wagging her finger and saying "You shoulda married that Rosenberg girl, Al, I always say'd so--"  
  
Anya doesn't like talking about things, either. Not real stuff, emotions and all that doo-wicky. Nope, her preferred topic of conversation is orgasms, and she particularly enjoys bringing up the subject in front of company. Usually Spike, and of course, the gimp really gets off on that. And then I tell Anya about private conversations  
  
(how they're not so private in front of my friends)  
  
and she gets all moody and Spike laughs  
  
(oh, we're not your friends. Carry on)  
  
and my ego shrinks to about this big and I hate him, I really do. But that's irrelevant, because with any luck, I'm never going to have to see his leering, dead face ever again. Ha ha, hahaha. Put that in your pipe, and smoke it, dead boy.... Somehow, despite all this, I feel like the joke is on me. Probably it always will be, too.  
  
Anya's one of those women that there's no pleasing, and anyone that knows her like I do would be shouting 'amen brother' to that. She pretended not to know that she wasn't my first, and then proceeded to get upset. She maintained that she didn't believe me, which is a bit of a poke in the old ego's eye (you? Attractive? To anyone except me? Get real) but I think it's getting used to the knocks. She insisted on knowing who I wasn't a virgin with, the first time. I told her Faith, eventually, and she got more than unhappy. Even though she knew! she got hysterically unhappy. And when I accused her of being hysterically unhappy, she demanded to know why she couldn't be hersterical, and I laughed at her. Big mistake. She said I drove her crazy.  
  
And now she's gone.  
  
I could blame this on any number of people. Faith, for seducing me. Suffragettes, for shoving all that feminist hersterical bullshit into her head, even though they're all dead and you probably shouldn't speak ill of the blah, blah, blah. Rules are different on Hellmouths, oh you didn't know? Well, get in the loop, kids. Anya herself, for loving me, but not being content with me, with what I am. For not wanting me to change, but then moaning about the way I am. For never letting me win. The way I tell it, the blame belongs to Anya. But really, the blame completely lies on me. I can't say it out loud, though. Because then it'll be true.  
  
You're a dumb shit, Xander, really you are. I don't think it fiercely, and as such I sound nothing like my father. But at the moment we view me in the same way. Bile rises in my throat at that and I have to swallow. It's to get rid of the bile and has nothing to do with any tearful lump that swells in my throat at the thought of losing Anya. really. Through the course of last night I thought about it a thousand times. As Anya's cold, unforgiving back faced me without apology,  
  
I considered how, if she did leave me, I'd be better off without her. Her bad points. She's tactless, she never approves, she never understands. As for our private life, it's anything but. Somehow it's harder to make those arguments stick when the scenario comes true. But I never thought it would.  
  
Anyway. No doubt it's been a long day coming. This moment when Anya leaves me. Marriage? Pah. She and I were never really going to get married. We probably would have been together until we were old and grey, but commitment wasn't in Anya's vocabulary, and I guess it wasn't really in mine, either. Commitment means getting old, growing old together, and Anya didn't want to get old. I can see her when she's ninety, hanging around with some twenty year old only after her for her money, or because she's the best lover in the world, or because she'd put boils on his penis otherwise.  
  
It makes me sick to think of her with someone else. But we would have been together out of habit, and that's not right. That's a stale way to live. So Xander Harris has made a ground breaking decision. Sunnydale, CA, has become stale, too. The way I am now isn't living any way. It's just existence.  
  
Five years down the line since Buffy got here, and I haven't progressed from Donut Boy. From Jimmy Olsen. So I'm heading out. I took the blows and now it shows I did it my way. The Big Wide World probably isn't ready for me. I mean, I'm unique. There's no way you could prepare yourself. But an as-yet-unknown destination, someplace USA, is not going to know what hit it. Faster than a speeding bullet.  
  
(but gee, Mr White, if you keep giving Clark and Lois all the good stories, I'll never be a good reporter)  
  
Xander is the Kingpin. The top man. The master of ceremonies. This time I'm going to be Clark Kent. Is it a bird, is it a plane? No, it's the Xan Man, counting down to take off. New life. New man. Who knows, maybe even new love, somewhere down there. I'm a sex machine. Who loves ya, baby?  
  
(interesting question. And one day when I'm Stephen Hawking, I'll answer it)  
  
(2)  
  
"Think Positive"  
  
"Negativity is not your friend." Eric - "Boy Meets World"  
  
:::: Xander  
  
Just to let you know, I'm still layin' chilly. My optimism of earlier may have ebbed (truthfully? It ran screaming in the opposite direction once it heard what I had in mind. But it'll come back. They all come running back) but I'm still In The Zone. I called Willow, but she didn't answer. I was glad, 'cause if she'd have answered, I might have told her what I had in mind, and, well... that would have been a disaster. A 've haf ways off makink you stay' situation. I didn't want any of that. Somehow, even though it would totally be against my will, they would be able to make me stay just by asking. I mean, I'm not a total feeb. If Anya came in on her hands and knees now, I would be able to walk past her, whistling jauntily, I like to think. But if Willow so much as looked at me reproachfully, my legs would be reduced to the consistency of weak custard (Anya calls it creme anglaise, the silly tart) and I'd fall to the floor. So you see where my faith lies. (My Faith? That's what started all this in the first place.) Yes, the loyalty lies that way. Not with some dumb histrionic blonde who can't handle the fact that once another woman found her fiance desirable. Yes, Xander, you. Desirable? You're a freakin' machine. No, my loyalties remain with friends, with home, where the heart is.  
  
Anyhow. She's not crawling back, and if I stay here much longer, I'm afraid I might end up the one on my knees. I've packed my bag, and even (this is the true test) slung it casually over my shoulders in a manner that says "I'm a man. I can do this." I hope I can. I guess this is testing the ol' Harris manliness to the limit.  
  
Can you feel that excitement in the air? It's like sparks. Although they might signify fear. I prefer to interpret them as anticipation. I'm a coiled spring, baby. All I have to do now is tap the numbers into the phone and call them. They'll get me out of here. They're on my side. No trouble. No questions. Just... sweet... freedom.  
  
"Hello? Alexander Harris. They have? I'll come and get them. Right now. Thanks."  
  
One ticket to Anyplace, USA. Translate: New Mexico. Sounds familiar. Sounds good.  
  
Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it's the Xan Man, counting down to three two one. Who needs Clark anyway? Any fool could see Jimmy was the one who had the potential.  
  
(3)  
  
"Exit Stage Right"  
  
"And life goes on  
  
Within you and without you" Within You Without You, the Beatles  
  
:::: Willow  
  
"Wiiiiiilllllooooooooow."  
  
I think I only know one person who can whine like that. Still, I don't think I've ever heard her do it, and for her to be whining down my phone line is just... unthinkable. "A... Anya?"  
  
"He's gone, Willow - all his stuff - clothes and wallet and money and clothes - he's just - gone - and I don't know what to -"  
  
"Anya, stop. Breathe. Tell me what's happened."  
  
"Xander - we had a fight and I - I went to work and I - a note - and -"  
  
"He left you a note?" This is kind of fun, actually. I get to sort of sadistically delight in Anya's pain and try to decode what she's saying. It's like a puzzle. I like puzzles. "What did it say?"  
  
(a fun game. About being a lump)  
  
"Noooo - I left him a note - he's gone and -"  
  
"Anya, stop," I say again, and then the fun's gone, and the joy is replaced with a sort of sick ache in my stomach. I think it's fear. But patience is a virtue, so I refrain from screaming at her and ask her again. "What did the note say?"  
  
"I... I..." Sniffles bounce down the phone line. She's crying. I find that touching, sweet, even though I do dislike her. She really does care about him, even though she's probably thinking what I am - he's just gone somewhere and done something stupid and he'll be back soon. But in my heart I think I know he won't be back soon. I know, I know. There's no way I could get that right just from a feeling. But still. I think I do. "I can't remember. But all his stuff is gone - do you think it was a demon? Do you think he's been - he's been -"  
  
"No, no," I reassure her hastily. "If his things have gone, he probably went on his own. You know what he's like. Maybe he went to Buffy's, or Giles' - to sulk, you know. Did you check?"  
  
"I can't, I can't," she wails. "What if he's not there, and something terrible has happened? It's all my fault, Willow, it's all my fault. I can't lose Xander, I-"  
  
"Okay, okay, ssh, ssh. It's not your fault. Xander will be fine. Do you want me to come over? I'll call them. We'll find him in no time. He's probably just stewing away somewhere. Do you want me to come over?"  
  
"Oh, please, Willow - would you - thanks, thankyou - I can't lose Xander -"  
  
"You haven't. I'll be right there, Anya. Hang in there." I put the phone down and try to estimate how many times I've had to do this. Too many to count. Xander is supposed to be an adult, now, but still I fish him out of scrapes. It feels good though. The way that I still have a role in the group. People rely on me and I guess I like that. It wouldn't feel right if Xander called someone else, or if he stood on his own two feet. I suppose he will some day, but I hope it's not any day soon. 'Cause when Xander grows up, we all have to grow up. And between you and me, I'm hoping that we all stay kids forever.  
  
-----  
  
"You left him a note, but he didn't leave one. And he hasn't phoned you."  
  
"No," she sniffs. I have to admit, for such a pretty girl, she looks a state. Her mascara is smeared all over her face, and I know she would want to know, but I don't tell her. The front part of my brain says it's because it's not important at a time like this. But the back part shrieks 'leave it there, she's pretty enough already.' Either way. Why am I dwelling on this? It's not like it's important. "He hasn't called. He didn't leave a note. Where is he? He doesn't do things like this. If something's happened to my Xander - if he doesn't come back -"  
  
"Ssh, ssh. He'll come back. Of course he'll come back," I say comfortingly, though I don't know if I'm comforting her or myself. I admit I'm teetering on the edge of the precipice of panic. My heart feels a little tight within its walls thinking about what happens if Xander doesn't trot through that door. Xander can't be a missing person. That's for drug addicts, people who are disturbed. Xander isn't one of them. So Xander has to be okay. "Did you try the phone? Last number redial? 1471?" Of course. Breakthrough. Hail Willow, the 21st century's equivalent of Einstein. "Maybe he called an airport. Maybe he was planning to go away."  
  
She looks doubtful and hurt by that. "He was planning to leave me?"  
  
"No - I mean, maybe he was planning to go somewhere because he thought you'd left him. Call the 1471 number, and we'll find out."  
  
She raises an eyebrow and continues to look disbelieving. But I think for her, I'm in charge of this situation now, and I think she realises that if we're to have any chance of getting Xander back, it's not going to be through histrionics or hysterics, but through good, logical searching. Research, in fact.  
  
But we can't research without Xander-- it's not right.  
  
"Hello? Who's that?... Sunnydale Sojourns?" she says in disgust, and I can tell this isn't going to be successful. I take the phone from her.  
  
"Hello, this is Willow Ro - Willow Harris. I wonder if you can help me. Did someone by the name of Alexander Harris book a trip with you today at all? ... Yes, of course. He's my brother. He's vanished. We're very concerned about him." I catch Anya staring at me, rapt, as we have a break in conversation. "He did? That's fantastic. Can I ask you where to? Oh. Yes. Yes. I understand. Thanks a lot. Bye."  
  
I hang up the phone, feeling weary. "He booked a trip, but they won't tell me where to because of confidentiality clauses. And he picked the ticket up nearly three hours ago." I look at Anya sympathetically. "It looks like he's long gone, wherever he is."  
  
Anya bursts into tears.  
  
"Don't cry. At least we know he's okay."  
  
"How do you know he's not going somewhere else to kill himself?"  
  
Suddenly I know I'm not going to sleep so well tonight.  
  
  
  
(4)  
  
"Brave New World"  
  
"Oh no, what's this?  
  
A spider web and I'm caught in the middle  
  
So I turned to run  
  
And thought of all the stupid things I've done" - Trouble, Coldplay  
  
- Xander  
  
"Is this the bus for New Mexico?"  
  
The driver looks at me like I'm an idiot (how does he know? Can you tell by looking? Is someone walking next to me with a t-shirt that says "I'm with stupid"?) and looks the other way. I'll take that as a good sign, and I board the bus, stupid or not.  
  
(how do you get it? And how do you know when you have?)  
  
It's one of those really high quality jobs. A lo-liner (as I believe those in the know call it) with face and hand prints smeared on the windows, rickety seats, and gum stuck on the floor in exactly the spot you put your feet in. Most people'd complain, but not Xander Harris. I love this low quality, tacky, falling apart feel. It adds to the atmosphere of the bus. No, really.  
  
Even though at least half the seats are empty, I dive into the nearest window seat and allow the warped sense of triumph to wash over me. In a funny way, this is like all those times Willow and Jesse and I used to go on field trips to the zoo in grade school. Jesse and I always got on first and scrambled for the window seat. Stupid really. I don't know why I'm doing it now - there's no Jesse here to fight me any more - but it sorta feels natural. Like the spectre of Jesse is running with me. Or maybe I'm not being deep enough: maybe the only person I'm racing is myself. Something else occurs to me - something that I've never thought of before. Maybe Willow wanted the window seat once in a while. She never asked, but then, she never would. That makes me feel kind of mean, but she could ask, and I never knew a kid who wasn't self involved. Except Willow. And there aren't many of her in the world.  
  
"Mind if I sit?"  
  
"Huh?" I'll admit, I was hoping to have the journey to myself. To get used to being on my own, maybe, and to mull over my own stupidness that led to this situation, but I'm sort of glad that someone needs the seat. Because otherwise I might run screaming down the aisle - "STOP THE BUS" - and hitchhike back to Sunnydale in a moment of weakness. To safety, and the bosom of my friends, who probably haven't even noticed I've gone yet. That sobers me and I move my bag - which is pitifully small, considering it contains twenty years worth of accumulated Xander-stuff - onto the floor. "Sure. Sit."  
  
Given the opportunity to study this guy, I do. He's not the coolest guy on the ranch is my first thought. Messy hair (or is messy hair cool now? I'm not really down with the kids) and big thick glasses. But maybe it's the punk look. Dirty blond hair and stubble. Ah, now stubble I can do. It's a plus side of having dark hair. I have a pretty near permanent five o'clock shadow. In any case, normally I would pull my 'I'm way too cool for yoo- ooou' act, but I think I can handle sitting with a guy like this. A guy you could talk to, that doesn't intimidate you, that isn't a stud. A guy like me.  
  
"Thanks." He drops into the seat gratefully and shoves his bag under the seat. I notice that his bag is also encouragingly small. Then again, it probably doesn't contain his life's possessions.  
  
"I'm Simon." He holds out his hand. This I like. No surnames. Relative anonymity. "Thanks for letting me sit. I was a bit... well... concerned... that nobody was going to let me sit by them, and I'd have to sit alone for the trip, which wouldn't be fun. I hate to travel alone." He smiles half shyly. I like him already. He's even geekier than I am. "I mean deja vu of high school, you know? So... yeah, thanks, anyway."  
  
"Xan - Alex," I correct myself quickly, and shake his proferred hand. "It's no big deal. I mean. I know what being on your own's like."  
  
Do you, though, Xander? There's always been someone. Jesse-Willow-Cordelia- Buffy-Anya-Giles. Do you know what it is to be on your own? Have you ever really been on your own?)  
  
Shut up, brain. I've never needed you before and I don't need you now.  
  
"Xanalex?" he says coyly. The first and only coy guy I bet I ever meet. "Some kind of drug?"  
  
"Oh - aha, yeah, with you. No, Xander's a nickname is all."  
  
"Oh." His face falls and I'm with him really now : right, so he doesn't like me enough to let me call him by his nickname. "Everyone call you that?"  
  
"Everyone, yeah." His face falls farther and I have to make amends. I feel like I have to preserve some stranger's feelings. Stupid heart. "I hate it though. It's been around since I was a kid. I feel like I'm past all that now, so I introduce myself as Alex."  
  
"Oh." He nods, enlightened, face brighter without the weight of unhappiness on it. What? You think profundity is banned to those with spackle on their jeans? "So, what takes you to Roswell?"  
  
"Excuse me - Roswell?"  
  
He nods excitedly. (For my chosen subject, I pick Roswell, and other random words that no one has ever heard of.) "Yeah. End of the line. New Mexico? That's where you're going, right?" He suddenly looks deeply concerned. "You're on the right bus, aren't you?"  
  
"Oh, Roswell, New Mexico," I say easily, like I knew what he meant all along. "What takes me to Roswell? Well... I ... lots of things. Such as....um.... What takes you there?"  
  
"Aliens, pretty much. You know, the crash there and all. Alien theories, life from other planets. Area 51. How about you?"  
  
"Umm..." I can't think of anything immediately (research suddenly looks very appealing) so I shrug helplessly. "Aliens. Definitely. I mean, why else do people go to Roswell?"  
  
"Well, there's the-"  
  
"I mean," I say, desperately clutching at straws, "they don't go for rock formations, do they?"  
  
He seems baffled by this. "Well, I guess that the -"  
  
"What I mean is," I say finally, as calmly as I can, "that I'm going to Roswell for aliens." This seems to appease him and he nods, aweful, but inside my gut churns. Out of the frying pan into the fire, so to speak. From the undead to the unalive. Vampires to aliens. Demons to alternative life forms. Great stuff.  
  
He's staring fiercely down at his squeaky clean sneakers and wringing his pasty hands as his pale face turns a glorious shade of crimson. "It's - ah - it's kind of my Mecca," he admits shyly. "I'm into science fiction - are you?" he asks hopefully.  
  
Science fiction? "Err... nanu, nanu?" I try.  
  
He laughs. "Not Mork and Mindy science fiction. I mean real stuff."  
  
"Exterminate, exterminate?"  
  
"No, not really Doctor Who, although I guess that-"  
  
"Live long and prosper?"  
  
That one grabs his attention and he nods enthusiastically, like his head is on a spring. "Star Trek, of course. A classic."  
  
"I've seen Star Wars," I offer.  
  
He chuckles again and I get the impression he thinks I'm joking. I'm not. "They're neat, but I didn't like the latest one. I think George Lucas was cashing in on their cult success. I think the whole seventies revival made him think he could make a few bucks out of it."  
  
"Ah," I say, and this time the profundity really does disappear, making way for a big batch of lame. "Cashing in. Right."  
  
"So do you like Star Trek?" he presses.  
  
"Umm... Klingons," I say dumbly, aware that that is no answer to any question. I try to look knowledgeable on the subject and probably fail dismally, preparing myself for a few hours crap conversation. "Voyager... Enterprise," I add, and decide that stoic is the way to go. "Great."  
  
-----  
  
"Hey. Si. Simon. Wake up." It's not that I have any aversion to this guy sleeping - Lord knows he's more interesting that way - but the geek-drool on my shirt is pushing me a little. "Wakey wakey, Simon. Elle MacPherson is streaking past the bus." His eyes fly open and he lifts his head, craning to see. I laugh and slap my leg. "So there is a red blooded male in there. I thought as much."  
  
He grins, embarrassed, and I guess, thinking about it, he's not so bad. There are bad travelling companions (Cordelia, anyone?) but Simon's not one of them. Nah. He's a good guy. It's nice to have company anyway. I'll learn to live without it - but quitting cold turkey never works, does it? It's like smoking. I mean, I never smoked. Once in high school, Kyle DuFours and Tor Hauer caught me wandering in a part of school that they said belonged to them, and when I tried to mistakenly bluff my way out of it, Kyle told Tor to shut me up and he shoved a cigarette in my mouth. I don't know what went through my mind - I remember 'cancer, ashtray breath, ADDICTION' vaguely flashing past - but I know the thing I was most worried about was being caught. Stupid, 'cause what would Principal Flutie do except tell me to do it where I couldn't passively affect others? But I was scared. I don't know why I thought of that, now. Irrelevant really. It all seems like such a long time ago.  
  
Simon stretches and yawns. "Why did you wake me up, anyway? Miles to go before we sleep."  
  
"Jesus. Even when the guy's half asleep he has literary references running through his mind." I grin at him and he smiles back. I don't mind him so much. It's pretty good to have company, actually. I guess I'll learn to do without it, but quitting cold turkey, that's never good. "You want some gum?"  
  
"No, thanks. I have to have sugar free." He catches my look and throws one back. "Diabetic."  
  
"Diabetic and from Sunnydale. How much worse can life get?" Oh Lord, so much worse. (Yeah. He never met Cordelia, much less dated her. So he's already got one up on you.) Ha, ha, ha. Well, he never dated Anya either. So make that two.  
  
"At least you can escape from the latter," I amend.  
  
Simon laughs and begins rummaging through his rucksack. "I'm staying with my mom for spring break," he says. "I don't really want to stay in Sunnydale. I just split up with my girlfriend last week."  
  
"That's rough."  
  
"Sure. Life is. How about you? What takes you to Roswell? Other than alien theories?"  
  
Other? How does he know there's something other? Oh my God, scary mind reading demon. Didn't that happen before? No mouth? I check. Simon has a mouth. That's a good sign. "My girlfriend, uh, we broke up, yesterday." Why am I telling a total stranger about Anya? (Who else am I gonna tell?) Touche. "So I thought I'd live the dream and get the hell out of this one- Starbucks town for goo-" The bus pulls to a stop and Simon looks out of the window in a panic.  
  
"My mom!" he exclaims. "Look, Alex, there's my mom!"  
  
"Your mom," I echo. "Great."  
  
He bundles up his bags and pulls on his jacket. I've never seen a guy look so happy. Ever. And, you know, I've seen happy guys before. "It's been real nice talking to you," he says chirpily, as several others mill off the bus. "I mean it. And I hope you work things out with your girlfriend, and enjoy Roswell, too. Really." He holds out his hand. "'Bye, Alex."  
  
I shake the proffered hand (it's scary how goodbyes sometimes have echoey chunks of hellos in them) and give him a salute. Not the one fingered kind. The good kind. "And you too, Si. Keep watching the, uh, the Trek."  
  
"Oh, I will. And you!" The driver beeps his horn irritatedly and Simon hurries to the front of the bus, diving down the steps. "Bye!"  
  
"See ya," I mutter under my breath. There's just time to see him throw himself into the arms of a woman - his mom - before they stagger away and I get kicked off the bus. Welcome to Roswell. You'll never leave.  
  
  
  
(4)  
  
"Chances Are"  
  
"Someday you will find me  
  
Caught beneath the landslide  
  
Of this champagne supernova in the sky." Champagne Supernova, Oasis  
  
- Michael  
  
"I still don't get why Max can't just cure it," Isabel says grouchily. 'Cause of the heat, I guess, or maybe just because she feels guilty about Maria, who sat with me in A&E for six hours last night when she knows that Max could put his hand on my leg and I'd be fine.  
  
"No way are you curing that leg," Maria snaps. "I sat with him for six hours yesterday. He suffers."  
  
"Liz's dad saw it happen," Max says flatly.  
  
"Can't you just tell him that it wasn't as bad as it looked?" Isabel says. "I mean, what's six hours wasted when you're in love?"  
  
Maria shoots Isabel a look of pure poison and flounces off behind the counter. "Shut up," I snarl at her. "Parker knows exactly how bad it was. I mean, bone protruding through skin doesn't usually indicate a twisted ankle."  
  
Isabel opens her mouth and Max cuts her off before she can speak. It doesn't often happen but hey, so long as he's on my side, I don't care who he cuts off. "Michael's right. Mr Parker will get suspicious. We can't risk it."  
  
Isabel looks disgusted. I follow her gaze and she's watching Maria stick a sign in the window for a temporary chef. In my absence. "Well, can we really risk an outsider being in here? I mean, who knows what we might let slip?" The phone behind the counter beeps annoyingly and Isabel clicks her fingers. "Uh, waitress, the phone's ringing."  
  
Maria stalks past her, obviously seething, and gets to the phone a fraction of a second after Liz does. "Hello, Crashdown?"  
  
-----  
  
- Willow  
  
"Someone's answered," Dawn hisses at me gleefully, and though I don't share her excitement, I'm allowing myself a little bit of hope. It's only been two days, but it's not like Xander to just up and leave. Well, maybe it is like him, but he's never done it before unannounced. I don't know. I like to think of Xander as our Jim Carrey. Only, Jim Carrey would never do such a wicked thing. "Hello, my name is Dawn Summers. A friend of mine has recently gone missing... of course. Sunnydale, CA... yeah. We're just phoning all the businesses in towns at the end of bus trips... yeah, he definitely went out of town on a bus...I'm sure our phone bill will be huge." She rolls her eyes at me and makes a 'get on with it' gesture with her hand. "His name's Xander Harris. Alexander Harris...I'd appreciate it. My number is.... yes... double seven oh. Dawn Summers. And your name is...? Liz Parker, right. Thanks. Thanks a lot. Bye." She looks at me and shrugs, disappointed. "Maybe the next one," she says, probably to cheer me up more than anything. "She said she'd call. It's only been two days, Willow, he can still show up. Willow?"  
  
"Sure," I echo hollowly. "Sure. I mean, he could walk in here any second."  
  
"Yeah. Yeah, he really could," she agrees.  
  
I wish I believed myself.  
  
  
  
(5)  
  
"Found"  
  
"Had enough of saying I'm sorry  
  
Maybe I know that I can do things better on my own." - On Your Own, Dead Kennys  
  
-Xander  
  
You know how sometimes the gods just shine on you? Like, "Hey, let's have a random do-gooder moment, and send a stroke of luck to.... him. Him, right there. Xander Harris, yup, he's well overdue for a good grilling on the sunbed marked "good". Let's send him.... oh, hey, work would be neat. Let's send him work." I so believe in a god. Really I do. Keep it up, guys.  
  
I'll explain. I got off the bus - well, I was kicked. That driver was in a hell of a hurry - and I was just walking, marvelling at how hot this place is. Dusty hot, as well as humid. It's the worst kind, but hey, it's not Sunnydale, so plus points there - and anyway, I was just walking, and I walk past this little diner place called the Crashdown. Cashing in on the alien theories much? Anyway. I'm thinking maybe they can point me in the direction of a job, a place to crash (or, crash down, if you will), something like that, because Mr Xander Wiseboy chose a place on the map where he has no extended family and no friends. No ties equals no occupation (nothing new) and nowhere to sleep. Which is something new entirely. But the long and short of it is, there's this sign in the window of this diner - the Crashdown. Jesus - for a temporary chef. And that's pretty much where I am now. Transfixed by the beauty of it. You ever get that? Ordinary piece of paper, two lines of scrawl, badabing badaboom you can't take your eyes off it. Be-au-tiful. A veritable masterpiece of tree pulp and marker pen. Mmm-mmm.  
  
"You cook?"  
  
Ooh - woah - people watching me drooling over said paper. "Cook? I cook?"  
  
A blonde girl in a gaudy waitressing uniform smiles at me and - dear lord - are those deely boppers? "Great. That answers my question... kind of. Allow me to rephrase. Do you cook... and are you looking for a job?"  
  
"Absolutely on both points." Anyone can cook, can't they? How hard can it be? I can cook. Xander couldn't, but I definitely can. New man. A cooking new man. No problem. "You need someone fast? I mean, do you need a chef soon, not do you need someone who cooks fast. Gotta stop missing out those words," I chide myself, feeling like the biggest dork this side of wherever it is Simon's staying.  
  
She laughs and wipes down the outside tables. "Yeah. Our chef... Guerin-" she jerks her head towards inside -"broke his leg yesterday. Slipped on a french fry." She laughs again and shakes her head, wiping down the final table and pushing chairs underneath it. She doesn't really sound like she thinks it's funny, though. "What a jerk. Anyway. I'm sure if you wanted the job, it's yours. Why don't you come in and apply? What did you say your name was? Hey..." She frowns for a second, like she's trying to remember something. "It's not Xander, is it? Xander Harris?"  
  
"No!" Oh God. Oh God. How could she know that? Surely she couldn't be - a mind reading psychic telepathic lie detector demon? No, no, that's ridiculous, don't be paranoid. Then the only explanation can be that someone got here first. No way - halfway across the world (nearly) and they still found me... okay, Xander, calm down, it's fine, you're a convincing liar, really. "I mean, no, why would it be?" Hahaha, oh dear Lord, Xander, pull yourself together. "It's, uh, uh, Daniel. Daniel Giles." A mixture of Oz's and Giles's names, which I feel was extremely diligent and practical of me to apply. I mean, Rosenberg's gonna stand out, and Harris is my real name, so that's a no go. And it occurred to me that Rupert was a nuh-uh as a first name, and Oz is my only other guy friend really so... I know what you're thinking. Summers. Summers is a good surname, right? Well, stuff that, wise guy. No way is this guy going round with any girl name like Summers. Please. I mean, there's a reason Hank wanted to get away, you know? And now for me to get away. Pull the conversation away from your name, Harris, we don't want any more of that crazy talk. "You really think I could get the job? I mean, just like that?"  
  
"Sure. We're desperate." She shrugs again and I catch her glance inside, looking at someone sitting in there, almost wistfully. "What did you say your name was, sorry? You're new in town, right? I mean, I haven't seen you around before. What brings you to Roswell?"  
  
"Aliens," I say quickly, silently praising God for Simon. "Alien theories and stuff... it's kind of cool... and I needed a change of scene. Too stuffy back where I came from," I lie, although the term stuffed-shirt was made for Giles. "And it's Daniel. Just- call me Daniel."  
  
-----  
  
"... as long as you understand it's only a temporary job while Michael gets himself back into full health," the old guy drones on.  
  
"Sure. Sure. That's fine."  
  
"Well, then, welcome aboard, Daniel!" Mr Parker booms, shaking my hand a little too vigorously.  
  
"Thankyou, sir. Thankyou very much."  
  
"It's no trouble, no trouble at all," he replies kindly. "I understand you're looking for somewhere to stay during your time in Roswell? If that's the case, then I suggest you take our spare room upstairs. For a small fee, of course. That way we can all keep an eye on each other, eh? Eh?" He laughs, and I join in nervously. We can all keep an eye on each other? Decode: I don't trust you out of towners as far as I can throw you. At least if you're living under my roof, I can see exactly what you're up to at all hours of the day and night. I don't care. Watch me, dude.  
  
So, to check this out. I have a new home. A new job. A new name. A new boss. And no supernatural worries whatsoever. No vampires, no demons, no Slayers, no Wiccans. The only thing that's gonna bother me here is aliens. And I think I can handle them, so long as they're the plastic, inflatable type. Yessiree Bob, life is sweet.  
  
For now, anyway. Fingers crossed, Xander, m'boy. Just you keep those fingers... crossed.  
  
(6)  
  
"Denial"  
  
"Make like you don't know the truth  
  
It's out  
  
It's out" - Flamingo, Allen Rock  
  
-Liz  
  
"Liz?" There's a nervous tapping at my door and I pull my shirt over my head. "Liz? Are you up?"  
  
I cross to my bedroom door and pull it open. Daniel stands there, looking embarrassed. "I guess I am," I reply. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"  
  
He frowns and looks inside. "I thought I heard screaming," he says vaguely.  
  
"Screaming?" Screaming. What were you dreaming about, Lizzie? What were you dreaming about that made you scream? "Oh, well, I don't know. Maybe I was dreaming about Mr Intense again." I let out a short laugh, and I know it's lame. Another lame Parker jibe at Max, but I guess it's just a facade, you know? Just a way to stop it hurting so much. "He has that effect, I guess."  
  
"He seems pretty intense," Daniel agrees. "Maybe you should do what I do and renounce the opposite sex. No offence, but girls suck."  
  
"Yeah, well, guys blow too," I tease, and we both laugh. "Really. My love life is worse than crappy. You had girl trouble back home?"  
  
"Yeah," he admits. "My girlfriend - Anya - turned drama queen when she found out I slept with some girl that she hated. Years back," he adds quickly. I think he wants me to not think badly of him, if that makes sense. He's one of the nicest people I've ever met, at least, he seems that way since he's been here. "That's why I had to come here. Su - San Francisco was getting too heavy for me." He smiles briefly, but he looks sad still. Maybe talking about Anya hurts him more than he lets on.  
  
"Roswell's got its own share of heaviness, trust me," I tell him, and he shrugs, like that doesn't matter. I brush past him and get to the top of the staircase before something strikes me. The way he stammered over San Francisco. 'Su-San Francisco.' That's what he said. Like he wasn't used to saying it, or he was going to say something else. I turn back to him before I head down the stairs. "Daniel?"  
  
"Mmm?" He looks at me and something that could be fear flits across his dark eyes. He knows what I'm going to ask him and he hates it.  
  
"Where are you really from?"  
  
He stares at me for an incredibly long moment and sighs heavily. "I guess I knew-"  
  
"Daniel, Elizabeth." My dad grins at us. Using my full name - I hate that. "Shouldn't you be on the move?"  
  
"Yessir." Daniel grins back and gives a naval salute. Nobody else could get away with that with my dad, but for some reason he likes Daniel. Despite this aura of mystery and general weirdness, my dad likes him. That's cool with me. In a way, I guess I like him too.  
  
My dad smiles and goes back into his room. I look at the guy standing in front of me. The one I thought I knew about. I realise now I don't know anything at all. "You were saying?" I prompt.  
  
He looks miserable again and I'm horrible. I'm this horrible, evil person who can hurt someone just by trying to always rake up the past. "It doesn't matter," he tells me. "It doesn't make a difference where I came from. I can't ever go back."  
  
-----  
  
- Xander  
  
Maria, Michael and Max are standing outside. I can hear their stilted words through the heavy air - it seems to carry them better, somehow. I pull my apron (oh yeah) off over my head and I'm putting it on the peg in the wall when I notice the fat paperback on the side. Figuring it was left by a customer, I open the cover and read the name inscribed.  
  
"Maria!"  
  
She glances up at me in surprise as I hurry over to the door. "You left your book," I tell her, pushing it into her hand.  
  
"Oh!" She flushes in embarrassment, and Michael gazes at her in surprise.  
  
"You're reading," he says, and I dislike the mocking tone in his voice almost immediately. "Wow. Summer really did get boring."  
  
"Sit on this and rotate, Guerin," Maria mumbles, absentmindedly twirling the pencil she's been using as a bookmark in her long pale fingers.  
  
"Oh, you wound me," Michael says snidely, and I hate him, I really do. I mean, whatever's gone before is none of my business, but I know it's not right to treat anyone like that, whatever's happened. Admittedly I'm not Mr Forgiveness, but still. There's respect and there's... something else.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
The guy approaches from the shadows. I'm not instantly wary, and afterwards I think I should have been. Maybe then we could have avoided what was to come later. The secrets that came out. Skeletons are never as interesting when they step out of the closet. "I wonder if you could tell me where I could get a bite to eat." And his phrasing still doesn't get me alert. I've become careless here, relaxed. Tolerant and forgetful and it's dangerous. I should have known  
  
He leers at Maria and continues. "Don't worry. I think I see the place." His face morphs into vampire mode and the expressions on the other's faces, though probably priceless, don't even register with me. The guy fastens himself onto Maria's neck. She's screaming and Max and Michael just stand there like idiots. I grab the pencil out of Maria's hand and - oooh, flashback - ram it through the hybrid's chest. I didn't know I had that strength in me, and I don't think I ever will have again. I think it was born of fear, though God knows I never get the surge back home but... there's Buffy back home.  
  
Here, I have to be the Buffy.  
  
It - that - explodes into dust with a scream of rage. Maria has stopped wailing, but she's gone white, oh, so white, and she's clutching her neck. Her fingers are stained red. Jesus, Jesus. Buffy never showed me what to do about this part, but I don't have to find out, because I hear Michael utter a single cold word - "Max" - and Max is there, holding his hand on the wound, and suddenly the blood isn't gouting out any more and everything's okay. No vampire, no wound - everything's the same as it was a second ago.  
  
Except it isn't. The plasma on Maria's hands still lingers there, a stain, a reminder, and there's more than just that. On her neck. A silvery handprint. Glowing - phosphorescent. (Word of the day toilet paper, and you can thank Matt le Blanc for that little gag.) There's something obscene about it, something personal. I back away from them, and as I smack into the glass front of the cafe, I realise the three of them are doing the same to me. The question - "What are you?" - comes from all of us simultaneously. And I know that the answers I find aren't going to be what I want to hear, and that the answers I give aren't going to be what I want to say. But they always said the truth will out. And I guess - they were right.  
  
  
  
(7)  
  
"Tall Orders"  
  
"There is no design for life  
  
There's no devil's haircut in my mind  
  
There is not a wonderwall to climb or step around.  
  
But there is a slide show and it's so slow  
  
Crashing through my mind  
  
Today was the day but only for the first time" Slide Show, Travis  
  
I finish speaking, and the three of them stare at me with empty eyes. No, that's wrong. Their eyes aren't empty. Max and Michael - maybe. Devoid of emotion. Of belief. But Maria, her eyes are full of something. Doubt. Disbelief. And who can blame her? Not to say what they told me sounds realistic. But alien theories have always existed in the real world. But vampires?  
  
"That's a pretty tall story," she says flatly.  
  
"Taller than aliens?" I retort. "Well, excuse me, Princess Leia. Please do explain to me how what happened to that guy happened. Because it wasn't spontaneous combustion that made him go poof."  
  
"He's right," Max says. His voice is as toneless as everything else about him. You wouldn't guess that Liz had been describing the same person - intense - yesterday. Yeah, 'cause we waited a whole night before we discussed this. Don't let it surprise you. We all wanted to hear explanations, but no one wanted to give them. "It really happened. If we can exist then so can anything else."  
  
"Bullshit," Michael says succinctly, and I'm tempted to throw that word back in his face. Bullshit? You think this is bullshit? Come with me to Sunnydale, asshole, and I'll show you bullshit. My bullshit friend who kills those things you call bullshit. My bullshit girlfriend who was a bullshit demon. My bullshit friend's sister who isn't real at all but it wouldn't help. You're the one who's talking bullshit, Mikey. Aliens, my fucking ass. But it doesn't come out. It wouldn't make a difference, and besides - I'm not an angry person. Even now, I don't want to give them a false impression of me. Which is funny, as I've been a false identity since day one. Oh, well. "It was an illusion, or something. Something you set up. I mean - Slayers? Keys? Vampires? It's crap."  
  
"Flying saucers and little green men don't exactly appeal to my skeptical side either, Mike," I say, using the nickname I know he hates. "But if we close our eyes and say it's all a dream, then it'll jump out and grab us by the throat. These things -" this bullshit, I want to add - "are real."  
  
"It's a fucking load of shit," he says again, but his voice trembles and I know he believes me.  
  
Maria touches my hand and I can practically feel the icy daggers that Michael is shooting my way. "If this is true," she says carefully. "Supposing it is- there's no other explanation, Michael." She looks at him for a long moment before going back to me again. "Why didn't you tell us before?"  
  
"The same reason you didn't tell me that you guys were aliens," I say quietly. "The same reason I wish I hadn't told you. Because I didn't have to, and because you think I'm insane. Well, maybe I am. But I think the exact same of you. So excuse me." I push my chair back. Wince at the scraping sound it makes on the floor. "It's my day off."  
  
"Wait." Max stands behind me, and I don't know how I know he's there, I can't see him, and I didn't hear him until then, but I know, I just feel him there in a way I never felt anyone else. "Are you going to tell anyone about this?"  
  
I let out a harsh laugh. "And have them lock me up? Start rambling about aliens and Slayers? I'll keep your little secret, Evans, but you guys better do the same." I turn and look at Maria, silently pleading, appealing to her better side. She's the only one I think understands. "I don't want Liz to hear about this. Please? I'm a normal guy, okay. I just know stuff. Too much."  
  
Maria nods and her eyes are shiny-wet with tears. "I know how that goes. Knowing too much."  
  
She looks at Michael again, and I'm gone.  
  
-----  
  
- Liz  
  
"Whew." I perch on the stool beside Michael at the counter and rest my elbows on the Formica counter top. "I'm beat. This heat is going to be the death of me."  
  
"Yeah," he mumbles. "I'm living off Pepsi. So the same'll happen if the sugar overdose doesn't get me first."  
  
I laugh and pick the can of soda up, rolling it across my forehead. Trying to wipe the cold onto myself, hoping it'll seep into my skin. I don't think it will, but I always persevere. I used to think that was a good thing. "I don't know how Daniel copes in the heat of the kitchen all the time."  
  
"Oh, he's used to the heat," Michael mutters under his breath. "I'm amazed he doesn't have to hide in the sunlight."  
  
"What?" My head snaps up. He's got my total attention. "What do you mean?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Michael. Don't get awkward. What are you saying?"  
  
"Nothing. God. You're so naturally suspicious." He gives me a stilted smile. "Don't take everything so literally. I just dislike the guy, that's all."  
  
"I'm not naturally suspicious. You give me good reason." He won't meet my gaze and that's the decider for me. He's hiding something. "Tell me what you know."  
  
"Nothing! I just said he didn't like the heat. San Francisco and all that..." he trails off lamely. "I get the feeling he'd kick my crutches away in a second if he got the chance."  
  
"Daniel wouldn't do that," I say confidently. "He's a nice guy. You don't think that. Why not? Did he give you reason or is it just... a feeling?"  
  
"Tell you what." Michael pats my shoulder and grabs his crutches, hauling himself to his feet. "You talk to your little friend Daniel. If that is his name. I'm outta here." He hobbles out of the Crashdown, ignoring me calling after him, and nearly knocks Daniel over as he pushes past him in the doorway.  
  
"Daniel!" I beckon him. "Over here."  
  
He comes and sits down and I can't help thinking he's cute. He looks kind of like Max, but less intense, more fun. Still, I'm determined to know what Michael meant. "I want to talk to you."  
  
"You do?" He looks like a rabbit caught in the headlights. Something crazy is going on here  
  
today, I swear. Everyone went insane except me. "Uh - I have errands-"  
  
"It won't take long, I promise. Please?" He sits down reluctantly beside me and I snap open the can of soda. Trying to prolong the suspense, gauge his reaction. There isn't one. "Michael said something to me today. Did you two have an argument?"  
  
"Not as such."  
  
"Not as such?" I echo. "You don't like him, do you?"  
  
"I don't trust him, no. There's no reason why I should. What... what did he say?" he asks tentatively. Testing the water, I think, then it occurs to me it's nothing like that at all.  
  
"Something about you not liking the heat. No, you being used to the heat. And how he's surprised you don't have to hide in the sunlight. That's not a normal thing to say." I look at him and I'm surprised how guarded and afraid his expression is. "Tell me what he meant, Dan. I'll find out anyway."  
  
"San Francisco is a very hot place in summer. Maybe he thinks that Roswell is hotter and that I will... I ... uh... have a problem with tanning," he replies awkwardly.  
  
"Daniel." I take hold of his chin and hold him up to look at me. "Sometimes you remind me of Alex so much I could scream. I never told you about Alex, but I will. I trust you, Dan, okay? Please. Will you trust me too?"  
  
He sighs hard and turns his head away. "You're not going to believe this."  
  
"Try me."  
  
He looks at me with those eyes that are so old, and suddenly, briefly, I'm so very afraid he will.  
  
(8)  
  
"The Whole Truth"  
  
"You may not believe it, but I don't believe in miracles any more  
  
And when I think about it I don't believe I ever did before" - Elton John  
  
- Xander  
  
He swore he wouldn't tell. The bastard. I could cheerfully beat him into a bloody pulp now, and I probably could, as well. Physically, I would have the advantage of a non-broken leg, and suddenly it occurs to me. Why didn't Max heal Michael? Maybe Michael was too proud to let him. That would make sense. Knowing the prat like I do.  
  
I tell Liz the whole sordid tale. Hellmouths, vampires, Willow, Slayers, Keys, Watchers. Even about Angel. I don't know why I told her that. I suppose I wanted to give her the feeling that no matter what happened with her and Max, at least she didn't have to kill him. I don't know that Buffy ever really got over that. I don't think she did.  
  
To Liz's credit, she doesn't look shocked. She nods at the end, and sits quietly for a moment. In contemplation, I suppose. Then she says something else that surprises and bothers me. "Michael said something else. Something about Daniel not being your real name." She looks at me with those big eyes you could drown in. "Is it?"  
  
I think of what Maria said to me when I arrived. It's not Xander, is it? Xander Harris? I want to tell Liz the truth, but I know there's only so long luck holds out. And the odds of her putting two and two together and getting four are dangerously high. Something else strikes me, something that's kind of funny. Daniel is an anagram of Denial. Which is weird as well as incredibly apt. "Yes," I lie. "Michael got that wrong, at least. It's my name."  
  
She eyes me carefully, big wide eyes that scare me a bit. "Honestly?"  
  
"No more lies."  
  
"Good." She leans back in the chair and fiddles with her hair. "So... assuming this is all true, and I think it is. How long has San Francisco been a hellmouth?"  
  
I hesitate. My head says that I should just lie, because then there's less chance of it all coming out. I say all. What I mean is there's less chance of my name coming out, because that's the only secret part now, the only old part of me that they don't know about. And call me a sentimental fool (or just a fool, if you like) but I'm not prepared to let go of that yet. So I tell her the truth. Risk it, Xander. Take that chance. "Never."  
  
She tilts her head to one side like a bird and questions me without saying anything.  
  
"I'm from a town called Sunnydale," I confess.  
  
- Liz  
  
"Sunnydale?" I echo.  
  
"Yeah. You've heard of it."  
  
"No - no." It's horrible of me to lie to him. I know. I know. But that word clicks in my brain, like the face that's been blacked out of a photograph. That girl that called. Dawn Summers, from Sunnydale CA, looking for Xander Harris. And I know now that he lied when he said that was his real name, and that he has his reasons for that. I don't know them, but I'm confident that he has a good reason. I don't have any explanation for that, but I trust him. Call me an idiot. But he did lie to me, and I'm going to lie to him again, so we're square. I'm not telling him about Dawn, or the call, or that I know his real name. Maybe that's not lying. Maybe that's not revealing the truth. "Or maybe I have. Sunnydale, CA?"  
  
"Yeah." His handsome face contorts into a frown. "You've heard of it?"  
  
"From somewhere, yes."  
  
"Probably a TV show called Welcome to the Hellmouth."  
  
A bad joke, but it softens the atmosphere. I smile. "There's something more to you, Daniel Giles."  
  
"Something worse?"  
  
"I'm not sure yet." It's true. I haven't decided - is he a good guy or a bad guy? I guess we'll find out. "But there's something more."  
  
"Something more," he repeats softly. Then he surprises me by voicing my thoughts. "Well. I guess we're both learning, then, huh?"  
  
(9)  
  
"Aftermath"  
  
"In the aftermath of this crazy world  
  
My eyes are burning you black" - Silence, Allen Rock  
  
- Maria  
  
"You trust him."  
  
Guerin sounds accusing. God, I hate him, and I love him at the same time. What a horrible cliched thought. "Yeah," I retort defiantly. "Why not? He hasn't given me any reason not to."  
  
"Apart from lying to us," Isabel points out.  
  
"He didn't lie," I spit back. "He just didn't tell us the truth straight away. And it's not something we can really haul him up on, is it?"  
  
That silences them; both of them. Isabel and Michael. I hope you'll be very happy together. You obviously make a great team.  
  
"I think he was telling the truth."  
  
Max's voice grabs my attention in a way it never has, and I see the same thing happen to Liz. "You do? Why?" It's not unfair of me to say that I was totally expecting him to take Isabel's side.  
  
"I don't know." Max shrugs.  
  
"This isn't a great time to get stoic, Max," Isabel snaps, and actually that's the first time she and I have ever agreed on anything, if memory serves.  
  
"It's just a feeling," Max insists.  
  
"Well, thankyou, Freud."  
  
Isabel and Michael - why do I always want to hurl when I think of that name? - snigger and I guess I said the wrong name. Like I care. At least I'm human- oh, petty, Maria, real petty.  
  
"He's told us all that stuff when he could have just run away," Liz says quietly. "I think 'Ria's right. I trust him too. He seems... honest. Why would he have told us anything like that if it was a lie? And if there was something that would implicate him, he wouldn't take the risk of it coming out."  
  
I nod excitedly. "Yeah." Of course, if we wanted to prove something, we could tell them about the phone call, but there's a chance that an intelligent girl like Isabel would put two and two together and make a number between three and five. So we have to rest our argument on Lizzie's shoulders, because mine are crumbling under the weight. "He wouldn't risk it. And you told him a big secret, too. If he made it all up, he's a convincing storyteller. I didn't get the feeling he was humoring us. And why would he make up something so unbelievable? So crazy? Why would he say those things if they were all lies?"  
  
"Well. If you girls trust him so much." Michael's voice is full of spite and I know he hates Daniel - Xander. Hates him. That's what makes me like Xander all the more. I'm petty like that. "I guess Liz will just have to play Nancy Drew."  
  
"I'm not snooping."  
  
"God forbid," Isabel says boredly.  
  
"We'll keep an eye on him," I say, standing up. "Creepy meeting over. Hitler and Eva Braun can go back to their bunker." I smile coldly at Isabel, and she glares back as I flounce over to the counter. I brush past Daniel - Xander - as he languishes by the grill.  
  
"Nice comment about Hitler," he says without looking up.  
  
"You heard?"  
  
"Every word." He stares at me then and I feel the same thing that Liz has told me she experiences when he looks at her. A kind of shudder. Warmth. Man, he's hot. I wonder if he realises. "Thanks for sticking up for me over there. I know the vultures are prepared to go all the way when it comes to picking me to pieces."  
  
"It's easy to stick up for anyone if it means going against them," I say airily, and disappear into the back room to mull over what I've just felt.  
  
-----  
  
- Max  
  
"How's your leg?"  
  
"Better." Michael leans towards me conspiratorially and checks Daniel to make sure he's not listening. "You think you can cure my leg? I mean, a little sooner than it would naturally? I don't like the idea of that guy getting his claws into Maria. And as soon as I'm back on my feet-"  
  
"He might not go away."  
  
"Yeah, he will. I know his type. He'll go where the money is. C'mon, Max. I've seen the way Liz looks at him. Do you want that to happen?"  
  
"What?" I say stupidly.  
  
"You know what. Their rooms are pretty close together, you know. One look in Daniel Giles' big brown eyes and boom - it's all over for Max Evans. Do you want that?"  
  
I glance over at Liz. She's chatting happily with Daniel and Maria. Smiling despite the tension and the heat emanating from all of us. He has that effect on her. "I can't fix it, Michael. If Liz's father suspected-"  
  
"He wouldn't. Who's gonna suspect anything? Everyone will think I was lucky - it didn't break as bad as we thought, or something."  
  
I look down at the table. "Three weeks."  
  
"Two."  
  
"Three more weeks and I'll do it."  
  
"Fine." He smacks his hand down on the table. "Three more weeks of that insect creeping around and sliming all over your girl and mine. Fine."  
  
"She's not my girl." I don't think she ever will be, either. "Or yours."  
  
"Shut the hell up."  
  
-----  
  
- Xander  
  
I wake up in a cold sweat. I dreamt of Buffy and Willow, under the water, staring up at me and mouthing "Why? Why? Why?" Dawn called the Crashdown today. I put on a false accent and said I hadn't seen anyone like me. I think she was convinced.  
  
I hear something knocking at my window and figure it's a branch or something, or hail. But it's still so stifling hot and there are no trees near my window anyway. It's insistent, and I swing my legs out of the bed and go to the window cautiously. It's open a fraction, and I push it and lean out. "Who's-"  
  
"Hello, mate."  
  
That voice. That insiduous, slick English voice that always makes me think of oil. You know, the type that gets dumped in seas and kills stuff. How did he find me? How?  
  
"Going to invite me in?"  
  
  
  
(10)  
  
"Uninvited Guests"  
  
"Come inside. Come inside  
  
We shall dance 'til dawn tonight!" -The Breaking Of Solomon, Mary Shelley  
  
- Xander  
  
"No way. This can't be happening."  
  
The long dead face grins at me. He's so pleased with himself. "Your worst nightmare has entered the vicinity. Come on, Xander. You must know I'm not going anywhere. Just let me in."  
  
Hold it. Spike's a vampire. Vampires have to be invited. Ah... now it all makes sense. "Let go of the drainpipe and get out of Roswell. You have to leave now. Now."  
  
"Not gonna happen. I promised the Slayer that I wouldn't go back to the Hellmouth without you. And I'm going back. So stop telling me to sod off and let me in."  
  
I glance down at the ground. "It's a long drop."  
  
"I won't be making it."  
  
"I can't go back."  
  
"It's easy."  
  
"You don't understand," I insist.  
  
"Dan? What's going on?"  
  
I whirl around, but not before I see the amused look that makes it's home on Spike's face.  
  
"Liz-"  
  
"Pretty piece, isn't she?" He laughs and I want to kill him. He's ruined everything. Everything. Even if he leaves they'll find me. I have to leave, and I was happy here, I swear. I hate him. "This what you dumped our Anya for?"  
  
"Dan - who is he?" Liz asks carefully. "Why don't you let him in?"  
  
"Don't-"  
  
"-mind if I do," Spike finishes, and jumps in, landing lightly on his feet. He vamps, and Liz freezes in fear. I can tell by the pleased look on his fleshy face that he's achieved the desired effect.  
  
"He's all face," I tell her desperately. "He can't hurt people any more. Trust me. I'll settle it. Liz? Go back to bed, please. I can sort this out."  
  
Warily, Liz backs towards the door. "If he hurts you-"  
  
Spike snorts with laughter. "What are you going to do? Beat me with your mascara brush?"  
  
"He won't," I promise. "Please, Liz."  
  
She nods cautiously and pulls the door closed behind her.  
  
"That's it. Get out, Spike. I'm not coming back. Not in a million years. It's over."  
  
"Happy here, are we?" Spike strolls around the room, looking more and more triumphant. I realise that he is. I have no choice now, no option but to go home. This was a contest for him, and I'm his trophy. He can parade me around Sunnydale; he'll have the upper hand forever. And there's nothing I can do about it.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"You're coming home, Harris. If you won't come willingly, I know a girl who can make you. Besides. Your one legged friend isn't going to be in plaster much longer. Then where are you going to be? Unemployed." He obviously delights at the expression on my face. Shock, I guess. Anger? Probably. "Yes, I know what's been going on. Been watching you, you fool, and you didn't even notice."  
  
I reach for the tool. My fist closes around it. Spike notices and lets out a peal of mocking laughter. "And what are you going to do with that? Kill me?"  
  
"I can't let you tell," I say in desperation.  
  
"So what? You'll stake me with a pencil?" He lets out another roar of laughter and I know that any second now, Liz's father is going to walk through the door.  
  
"It seems a fitting end," I tell him, trying to keep my voice under control, but I'm tense, so goddamn tense, and I don't think I can. "I can kill you and nobody will ever know. They'll never believe I could. They'll think you vanished, and why not? Maybe Dru or Harmony came back for you. Or an old friend. Maybe someone else killed you or you stayed out in the sun too long. They'll never think I could, I don't have that in me is what they'll think. I can't let you tell, Spike. You have to understand that."  
  
His eyes widen and I think for a second he knows I'm going to do it. Then the old Spike comes to the surface and he smirks at me. "Oh, go on then. Please. Do your worst." He holds his arms out in a gruesome Crucifixion parody. "Stake me if you can. Break your Buffy. You think she won't come for you? Do you think if you kill me she won't care? Can you really do that, little man?"  
  
"I can. I'm sorry, Spike. You're not ruining this for me."  
  
I close my eyes and plunge my hand down. It goes in easier than I had expected.  
  
I open my eyes in time to register his shocked expression.  
  
"You wanker," he says, and explodes into dust.  
  
(11)  
  
"It Goes On"  
  
"Want a grape?"  
  
Xander's eyes flicker up from the blackened grill and he smirks. "Is that a new dance move, or are you offering me fruit?"  
  
"Fruit." I laugh and push the bag across the counter towards him. That small action makes me sweat even more. I've lived in this place for longer than I care to remember. But I don't think I'm ever going to get used to the heat. "They're Guerin's. But as he's unaware of their existence, we have as much right to them as anyone."  
  
"I love your logic. Who are they from?"  
  
I grimace and he chuckles, pushing his hair out of his face. "Isabel."  
  
"She bought him grapes?"  
  
"Yeah." I collapse into a stool. I swear my body is slowly liquefying. "She and him are destined to be together. You know? Like Max and Tess. But I hate them all, so we're eating their grapes. Jesus, this heat! Turn the radio up."  
  
I think he gets that I don't want to talk about it, and I'm grateful, 'cause I don't want to turn into a snivelling ninny in front of him. He's a cool guy and I like him. That doesn't mean I'm going to sob in his prescence. He turns the volume dial up loud, and in the absence of customers, I begin to dance around the diner. Despite the heat, I feel good. Liberated. Screw Guerin. I can do this on my own. "What's love got to do, got to do with it? What's love but a second hand emotion? What's love got to do, got to do with it?"  
  
"Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken?" Xander finishes, and turns the volume down again. "Amen, sister."  
  
"Love sucks," I say cheerfully, and Xander nods in silent agreement. "Daniel? Where are you going to go when Guerin's leg is better?"  
  
Xander shoves his hair out of his face again and looks miserable. Like he doesn't want to think about that. I know I don't. "I'm gonna hitch, I guess. See where the road takes me."  
  
"San Francisco?"  
  
"Stop. My sides are splitting." But he doesn't look amused, or even any happier. "South sounds neat. Los Zapatos. Tijuana."  
  
"Still questing for Krusty the Klown?"  
  
He grins, finally. "I'm a child at heart."  
  
-----  
  
- Xander  
  
"Daniel?"  
  
I find myself fixated on the pile of ash by the bed. In a stupid way it's symbolic to me. It seems like it's a sign of how much I've changed. I would never have killed Spike. Never. But I did. I think Giles would be proud of me. Pleased about that. Or maybe he'd be heartbroken. It doesn't matter now. He's never going to find out.  
  
I get up and ease the door open. "Mr Parker?"  
  
"Break's over, son," he says cheerfully. "I know it's easy to fall asleep in this heat, especially when you're not used to it, but -" His eyes focus on something past me, something in the room. "What the -?"  
  
He pushes past me into the bedroom, and I see what he's gaping at. The ash. The remainders of Spike. Then I realise what they look like to someone who's never seen a vampire. "You've been smoking in here?"  
  
Incredulous. "No! I -"  
  
"That's cigarette ash if I ever saw it. How else do you explain it?" he demands.  
  
"I don't-"  
  
"This is too much. I won't have you risking our home through your careless habits. You could fall asleep smoking that thing, and then where would we be? My family and our business up in flames!"  
  
I kind of think he's overreacting. But now isn't a good time to speak.  
  
"I can't risk this kind of thing, Daniel," he continues, his voice lowering a notch. "I'm sorry it's come to this. But Michael will be back on his feet in a fortnight or so and until then we can cope. You've got until the end of tomorrow to get out."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You're fired," he says, monotone, and sweeps out.  
  
-----  
  
- Liz  
  
"Who was he?"  
  
"An acquaintance."  
  
I don't know if he thinks I buy that, or if he knows that I can see something about the guy that went a lot deeper than that. Like the way his hackles rose just by his being there, and the hysterical, desperate note that planted itself in his voice when he thought he'd lost his way. Still, I think I appear convinced, and appearances are everything to him. "Where did he go?"  
  
"It's best you don't know."  
  
I guess that means he killed him. "Maria said you were going south."  
  
"What's holding me in Roswell?"  
  
I stare at him and I can feel the shade of reproach that crawled over my face. "Everything. We've always got a room. And if you ever needed friends - I guess you have them here."  
  
"Sometimes friends isn't enough. You might as well know something. Your dad saw some ash in my room today. He thought I'd been smoking and he fired me. I have to get out of here by tomorrow so I guess I'm going where the money is."  
  
I gawp at him. Disbelieving. "But you don't-"  
  
"Don't sweat it, Lizzie." Lizzie. Somehow it doesn't bother me when he says it. He checks his watch and gets to his feet. "I'm going out."  
  
"Where?"  
  
"Don't worry. I'm not skipping town; at least not tonight." He strolls out like he's made a joke. Like he's cock of the hoop.  
  
I make a quick and probably wrong decision and grab the telephone. I dial in the number I've had written on the pad next to it since the day Xander arrived. The phone rings. There's a click. And someone picks up, so quickly you can tell they're waiting for news. I suppose they still hope he's coming home. "Hello?"  
  
"Hi. Is that Dawn Summers? This is Liz, Liz Parker. Roswell. I've got some news for you regarding Xander Harris." I pause, and she remains silent. "He's coming home."  
  
(12)  
  
"Arrivals"  
  
"Gone are the days we used to come and go  
  
They have come and are gone in the past  
  
We can't get them back" - Android "The Freedom"  
  
- Xander  
  
Once again, my earthly possessions are slung over my shoulder and weigh little or nothing. It's sad that I only have a few clothes to show for two decades of life. But there it is. Maria hugs me tightly. "I wish you didn't have to go."  
  
A tear nearly springs to my eye but I hold it back. "Me too."  
  
"You'll keep in touch?"  
  
I pull away from her and notice that she's crying. Sweet. "Hey, what's this. I didn't know you cared."  
  
"Buttmunch. I'm just pissed that Guerin will be back in the kitchen." I laugh and she giggles, too. "But will you keep in touch?"  
  
"I can't promise you anything."  
  
She sighs. Like that was what she expected. "I kinda knew that was coming."  
  
Liz is watching me from a table, and we've already agreed that goodbyes suck. So I raise a hand, and she does the same. Watchful. Intense. The words apply to both she and Max. I suppose that's why they're perfect for each other, even if they don't realise it yet, or maybe that's why they do.  
  
"Take care!" Maria calls, and I turn and wave to her too. I bump into the girl in the doorway before I see her, and I spin around and grab flesh in a keen attempt not to let her fall to the ground.  
  
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Are you-"  
  
"Xander?"  
  
-----  
  
- Willow  
  
His jaw drops. "Willow? What are you-?"  
  
"I've come to take you home." He blinks furiously and I have to hug him, squeeze him bone crushingly tight. Just because I'm so glad he's alive. "You will come home, won't you? Please."  
  
"I... I don't know." He wasn't expecting me and it's a shock. That's why there's no 'it's so great to see you' or 'yes, I'll come home, I've missed you so much'. Not because he doesn't care. I know that's why it is. He's in shock. "I have to think."  
  
"So think." We don't need to talk more than that. I don't need an explanation. I just want him home. "Leave your stuff here and we can meet later. Here. What do you say?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"Whatever decision you make, we'll still love you, Xander. You know that, right? I mean, it's up to you. I respect that. But we've missed you so much these last few weeks-"  
  
"I have to walk," he says in confusion, and I hug him again. He's so childlike. I mean, he always has been, but more so now than ever. Or maybe I forgot that part- it's been so long- but I couldn't forget Xander, could I? Not my Xander?  
  
"Okay. We'll meet here. Say four?" I prompt.  
  
"Four," he echoes. "Okay."  
  
He wanders out with the giddiness of a drunk or a drug addict looking for their next drink or fix. "He'll go with you," a voice behind me says. "He said goodbye to us like he was never coming back. He's going to go with you."  
  
I turn around, and the girl behind me is beautiful. Big dark eyes and sleek hair. She smiles. "I'm Liz."  
  
"Willow. You really think he'll come home?"  
  
"I'm certain."  
  
I hope she's right.  
  
-----  
  
- Liz  
  
"Liz," 'Ria hisses, folding the hatch down as she comes behind the counter. "What time was Xander supposed to come back?"  
  
"Four," I reply. "That's what she said, anyway. What time is it?"  
  
"Five thirty, just gone," Maria says. "No wonder our lady is so fidgety."  
  
"Five thirty?" I repeat. "That's... wow. That's late."  
  
"No shit," Maria retorts. "He hasn't called?"  
  
"I'll check the machine upstairs," I tell her, and pull off my deeley boppers, heading up the stairs.  
  
The light on the machine flashes dark and the panel reveals that there are no messages. Concerned, I check Xander's room, but I'm hesitant to go in there. It's private. If there's anything in there... but he's gone. It doesn't matter now. (Why are you so twitchy about his feelings, Liz? About some guy that you hardly even know? Is it such a big deal?) "It's a big deal to me," I say out loud, more fiercely than I had intended, and push the door open.  
  
The room seems bare without him and someone has cleaned up the ash. Probably my dad. There's an envelope on Xander's bed. Some kind of goodbye note, I figure, and pick it up nervously. My name isn't on the front, but neither is anyone else's, and Xander must have known that I would be the one who found it. That's a reasoned enough argument for me, and I slit it open, pulling out the paper. I scan the page, catch the gist, and swear under my breath. Xander, you idiot.  
  
"Oh, God."  
  
  
  
(13)  
  
"Stop It, Now"  
  
It's a suicide note.  
  
Dear All.  
  
There's a lot of people I have to apologise to, because there are a lot of people I've hurt or messed up or gotten hurt, and I'm not sure which is worse. I never really had a way with words. That was Willow's thing. I can never really tell people what I'm feeling, either, and because I'm trying to do both, I may fuck this up. Bear with me.  
  
I will, I think. I'll bear with you but I...  
  
The music from downstairs slides up into my consciousness, backing for an important moment. This is like TV, huh. I wish it were. No one ever dies on TV- nobody! I scream silently, but reading is important. Reading-  
  
(stop the bus, I wanna be lonely)  
  
First off, Anya, I'm sorry. I ran away from you and I shouldn't have. I do love you and I think you knew that, but still. It's good to have things out in the open. Liz and Maria, I'm sorry I hid the truth from you. I guess you knew it all along, but that makes it worse. I'm a coward. It's something you'll learn. Max. I'm sorry I had an attitude with you. You hurt Liz, and I couldn't really ever forgive you for that. Michael - I'm sorry I mistrusted you, but I always thought there were rules to the way you treat a lady, no matter what. I didn't follow them either, so slap my face and call me a hypocrite.  
  
(seconds pass slowly and years go flying by)  
  
Sorry, man. Buffy. I did something real bad. I killed Spike, and it was because I was selfish. You're my hero and I didn't want you to get a false idea of me. So I'm telling the truth. I killed him, and I wish I hadn't, even if it is just for you. Dawn, I'm sorry I always patronise you, and that I never treat you like an adult even though you're more of one than I am. You're the most special of us all. Giles, you mean a lot to me. I never told you, but you're cool.  
  
(you gotta stop the bus, I get off here)  
  
Finally, Willow. I caused you a lot of trouble. Hyenas, anyone? We had good times, but they were mostly down to you. I would've crumbled when Jesse died without you. I'm not a good person, but you make me think I can be. You're my best friend. I'm an idiot, but you make me act like a man.  
  
(enough's enough)  
  
I'm sorry for taking an easy way out, but it's more effort than I consider it to be worth, now. Like I said, I'm a coward. I saved Buffy from the water's edge, and it's probably the best thing I've ever done. But for you guys, the best thing for you to do will be to let me drown. I really do love you all. Maybe it's hard to believe.  
  
(I'm leaving this factory)  
  
Love, Xander  
  
I grab my car keys and run down the back stairs, note in hand. I'm going to the lake, and I don't think I have a say in it.  
  
  
  
(14)  
  
"Daniel"  
  
- Liz  
  
I can see him, there, far away but close enough to touch. "Daniel."  
  
His expression is gone. Nothing. He looks like he overdid the Botox and now his face won't move, won't express, won't tell. He doesn't look at me. Glazed over. Dead. "It's Xander. I lied about everything. You said- no more- but-"  
  
(no more lies)  
  
"Oh, God." I wrap my arms around him and try to prop him against me. His body is weighty and flopping and I have to clutch him tightly to hold him up. "It doesn't matter, Xander. That you lied. I mean... I know I said it was a good thing but I- I don't want you to die. You didn't do something, did you?"  
  
He doesn't answer.  
  
"Did you?"  
  
Weakly, he pulls his hand from his pocket, clutching an empty packet of pills before gesturing with his head to the empty bottle floating on the lake. "You should leave me," he slurs. "You should leave me now. We could lie to Will... we could tell her I went away..."  
  
"You're gonna be okay. I won't have to lie for you!" I say tremulously, and he shivers suddenly. I dig my fingers into him, holding on desperately. He doesn't seem to mind.  
  
"I had a longer lifespan than on the hellmouth, Lizzie...I'm lucky, yeah, lucky Jimmy..." He chuckles drunkenly and collapses harder on me. "Hold me up, Liz... it's fanshy speech time."  
  
"We don't have to have fancy speeches. You aren't-"  
  
"I'm weak, Liz." His head lolls back frighteningly. "Always need someone holding me up... shouldn't die no diff'rent..."  
  
"You are not going to die!"  
  
He snorts and opens one bluing eye. "I better... not screw that up too... you'll tell Willow, won't you? Tell 'em that I love 'em... Buffy.. she my hero I... don't think they knew..."  
  
"I'll tell them." I resist the urge to bury my face into his shirt because he's dying and I should be doing something different, I should- "I'll get an ambulance." I put him down to the ground and run back towards the car. "We'll have help-"  
  
"No point, Liz." I stop and he's looking at the sky, smiling. "Pretty birds. I loved you girls, you know... you and Maria and Dawnie... wish I never...always lying... Willow? Where's Willow?... Buffy.... did you know.... Anya... not in front of ..."  
  
"Xander?" I stand by the car, fearful, cold. He doesn't move. "Xander? Don't go. You said you wouldn't go, Xander, no more lies, okay? No more!"  
  
"No more..."  
  
"No more," I whisper, and I watch as a judder goes through him and leaves him still. 


End file.
